"Hmph, a sense of humor is gold when the world's gone black. Don't fret none, the old gray-haired man's got your back...and I ain't talking about who you think I'm talking about."
"Fuck off, Leif."
"C'est la vie."
Three more blinks and he was gone. In the distance, I saw a Citadel warship emptying out, and one of the soldiers was late to put on his helmet. Just standing there, confused, with long gray hair... I vaguely recognized him from my time at Phoenix Base. Cotter Perry, looking good for his age. He'd done well for himself, moving up in rank, but his body had to be heavy by now, under the pressure of elderly life. Make sense why he was late putting his helmet on. I'd imagine his reaction time to be that of a snail's. I pointed him out to Weston, our mark, our ticket home. Under my breath, I murmured 'Thank you, Leif.'